


Equivalent Exchange

by irishlullaby13



Series: Aflame [3]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe, F/M, Magic, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6636682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of the Aflame Series.  Picks up from the end of "Quiet Uptown" and follows the new Witnesses.</p>
<p>Synopsis:  Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There was a request to have a story featuring Ichabbie 2.0 from the end of Aflame... and AUs are all we have now so.......
> 
> For the sake of my sanity, we can say this take place approximately 100 or so years from now.

  
~Prologue~  


_My, my, be still my beating heart_.

Abbie opened her eyes with a gasp. It was that dream again. The one that felt like a memory but at the same time felt like it shouldn't be considered one. But how could a memory not be a memory but still be one? She rubbed her eyes against the sunlight pouring in through the thin gap in the curtains.

“Abbie! Time to get up!” she heard mama call, from right outside her door. “Get up and get down stairs for breakfast. This is the third time. I'm not calling you again.”

Abbie snorted and pulled her blankets over her head. Mama wouldn't call her, but Dad would. After all she was the key to everything working out perfect today. Mama was hitting up the auction to see if she could snag them a few calves to add to their already massive herd. Dad was going to be busy in the fields, or rather making sure the farm hands were doing their job. And she...

They were depending on her to take the pick up into town—all by herself at that—and retrieve the exchange student they would be hosting for the school year. If she could be trusted with this task—nay sacred duty—maybe they would let her take it on the weekends to hang out with her friends.

“Grace Abigail,” Dad's voice intoned from the hallway. “You promised your mother you would clean up the mess you and your friends made last night. And you still need to finish your laundry.”

Abbie groaned then kicked off the duvet and sheets. The things she did to try and prove she was responsible enough to use the truck... _alone_. “I'm up... I'm up,” she called back. Those things were in addition to her normal daily chores of feeding the pets and the horses. 

She briefly wondered if the exchange student would be a horse rider, because it would be nice to have someone to ride with. But then she looked in the mirror and let out a helpless whimper when she realized parts of her hair had escaped her wrap during the night and, to put it _mildly_ , it was a hot mess. She reasoned that she must have been tossing and turning again, as she always did when she had that dream.

Maybe mama would have time to help her before they went about their schedules for the day.

  
#  


_“Why Dodge City? Why do you have to do everything weird? Why can't you go somewhere exciting like Los Angeles or New York? Or, hell, Atlanta. I mean, what are you going to send home for souvenirs? Corn? Do they even have mobile service there? Oh God, what if they don't have the internet? I've heard there are still places like that in rural America.”_

_“Mother... Betsy won't stop talking with food in her mouth,” Ichabod complained._

_His sister groaned and rolled her eyes when Mother scolded not only the talking with food in her mouth but the 'unladylike' slouch she had in her seat and her language. Betsy shot him a foul glare. “All things considered,” Ichabod replied with a huff. “It's some place I don't have to worry over you wanting to come and visit.”_

_Mother walked out of dining room. “Psst,” Betsy hissed._

_Ichabod sighed and looked over at his younger sister. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, which was caked with chewed up food—one of the many things she knowing did just to spite him. Ichabod pulled a face and swatted at her. “One day, Elizabeth... one day... they will finally invent time travel and I will make absolute certain that I am an only child,” he threatened, pointing his butter knife at her._

_“You wouldn't. You would miss me too much and then make a grandfather paradox to get me back again,” Betsy retorted. “But seriously? Why Dodge City? That's in _Kansas_. It's the middle of... the middle of nowhere. I looked the place up, Ichy. The most exciting thing in the past 100 years that happened there was they converted an old chemist into a bus depot. That was five years ago. Before that, the bus depot was in a realtor's office!” She leaned close to him, her eyes those of someone who had seen things they hadn't wanted to see. “And have I mentioned... corn. Corn fields are the number one spot for either alien abductions or demonic activity.”_

_Ichabod sighed again. “What are you getting at Betsy?”_

_“I want pictures from inside the mother ship when they return to get you.,” she quipped. “Because, lets be honest, there's no way you're human. You're too damn weird.”_

_“Mother!”_

Looking back on what would have been the final face-to-face conversation he would have with his sister until Christmas, Ichabod started to wondered himself... why? The place had obviously had some kind of charm to it when he had researched the available host sites. There had been plenty to choose from in New York City, Los Angeles, Dallas, Atlanta, Seattle, D.C. … but only one in the very heart of the United States in Dodge City, Kansas.

Images of rustic old, _old_ west buildings, gun slingers, and iron cast bovine were hardly intriguing. But something kept making him return to it. Perhaps he had just been wanting to get away from the _craziness_ that London had offered. He had started to regret his decision when he had seen Manhattan from the aeroplane. 

He regretted it even more when he and his best friend went their separate ways so they could study in NYC, and he continued onward over mountains and plains, then eventually arrived in Wichita. If he hadn't dropped his mobile down the air conditioning vent at the base of the window, he would have called his mother to say he changed his mind during the bus ride to Dodge City itself.

He felt entirely out of his element, huddled up in the back seats of the bus, with no means of entertaining himself after losing his phone. His sister's voice taunting him as he watched miles of corn fields swaying along side the highway. Ichabod was accustomed to the thrumming streets of London. Even Wichita had been decidedly small in his opinion. 

Then, when he arrived, there was no one to pick him up and... well, they couldn't retrieve his mobile from the air vent. Thankfully he did have the number he was supposed to call committed to memory, so he was able to call his ride. The young woman on the other end of the line sounded winded as she vowed she would be there shortly to get him... as son as she got the truck running again.

He had very much intended to contact his parents and ask to come home once he had a means to do so. But then he had heard a sweet voice behind him... he turned and he had seen _her_. At sixteen the concept of love at first sight was a very viable idea. This was despite the logic dictating that it was simply a primitive part of his brain processing the visual appeal of a very beautiful girl around his own age—which was something he had _not_ read about on the host family profile. However, to _feel_ it was an entirely different experience in and of itself.

She was the very image of what he imagined girls his age in Kansas would look like. Her dark curly hair in two low pigtails, a warm rosiness from a summer in the sun tinged against her already dark skin, a bright and welcoming smile, faded and worn out tee shirt featuring sunflowers, cut off jean shorts, and of course the quintessential cowboy boots with mud caked around the bottom edges.

Ichabod had a feeling he was going to very much enjoy his year away from home.

  
#  


_Goin 2 b late. Grab dinner from the store on your way home—Mom_  
 **With what money?**  
 _Tell Simone I'll pay her back in the morning—Mom_  
 **10-4 ma'am**

Everyone in the little market deli was staring at her. Or rather the person accompanying her. It wouldn't be so bad except, it was obviously making him very uncomfortable. After a few minutes of watching him fidget under the curious scrutiny of the locals, Abbie motioned for him to lean down—because, Sweet Jesus, he was taller than her Dad!

“I'm going to give you some advice,” Abbie said quietly as she tried to decide between barbecue or deep fried everything. “They can smell fear. As long as you're scared, they're going to keep staring.”

His face flushed pink as he stood back to his full height, hands clasped behind his back. “I can assure you, Miss Abigail, that I am not scared.” He shifted closer to her, as though her tiny form could somehow protect him from prying eyes. 

Abbie looked up at him and grinned. He could claim it all he wanted but he was definitely terrified. “Which would you prefer?” she asked. “Barbecue or...” She couldn't tell if that was fish or chicken. Knowing them, it was probably a mix of both. “Whatever that is.”

“I try not to make a habit of eating that which I cannot adequately identify...”

Abbie thought about it a moment. “Fair point,” she replied with a nod. “Barbecue it is.” She stepped up to the counter. 

Her auntie, Simone, beamed happily at her from the other side. “Who's your little friend, Abbie?” Simone asked.

Abbie almost laughed. _Little_? “Umm... this is... our new exchange student, Ichabod from England. Ichabod this is... my auntie, Simone. She'll be around the house _a lot_ , usually bringing food because she thinks mom and dad don't feed me enough.”

Simone peered at her disapprovingly. “Baby girl, you don't have much longer to grow, we gotta do whatever we can.” She thrust her hand over the counter in Ichabod's direction. “Nice to meet you sweetie. We'll all take good care of you while you're here so don't worry.”

Instead of shaking Simone's hand, Ichabod lightly took her fingers and bowed his head politely. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances, Miss Simone.”

“Mama said she'd pay you back in the morning,” Abbie said. “I'm supposed to pick up some dinner.”

Simone gave her a flat look. “I see how it is, Abbie. Just cut right to business, don't you? I'll be right back, your mama called and gave me the order.” She turned and walked through the swinging door that led to the back.

That certainly made the decision on what to get easier.

“She will stand here and talk you to death if you let her,” Abbie pointed out. “Just giving you fair warning.” She glanced up at her companion. “You don't talk much, do you?” He really hadn't said all that much since she had picked him up. In fact he had mostly just stared at her like she was some kind of great mystery, meant to be studied.

“I am trying to observe my new surroundings,” he replied quietly, his eyes darting around curiously. “Believe me, once I get accustomed to everything, you won't be able to shut me up.” A little smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth and his eyes glimmered mischievously.

He was cute, Abbie was willing to admit that much. In that dark-hair, blue-eyed, and pale kind of way. Especially when he did _that_ kind of smile which gave the slightest hint of a playful demeanour. After the disasters that were the last two exchange students they had hosted—one from a rich family in Morocco which complained the entire time then after a month and another from Brazil which... Abbie mentally shuddered at the thought and pushed it away quickly.

Ichabod was from a “comfortable” family in London, so maybe there wouldn't be too many complaints about farm living... maybe just a bit of culture shock. Since he was from a metropolitan area, maybe that meant he wasn't some strange, backwoods monster that would try to kill her. There was one way to find out...

Abbie softly whispered some words under her breath and “accidentally” brushed her hand against his. A gentle, warm, calming wave of energy flowed between them for the split second. She expected him to step back and apologize—or whatever a polite person would do in that situation. Instead he grasped her hand, entwining their fingers, as though it was the most natural and expected thing in the world.

Her eyes dropped down to their joined hands. The energy returned, thrumming between them. There was none of the franticness and paranoia that had been in the last student's energy. Sure, deep down she could sense he was nervous, but that was to be expected. Other than that, he was definitely one of the so-called “good guys.” She wondered if he could feel the energy too... 

“Here we are baby dolls,” Simone announced as she came out of the back holding a box filled with plastic bags and containers. She paused and cocked an eyebrow as she looked between them before letting her gaze fall to their hands. It was _then_ Ichabod blushed and muttered an apology as he released her hand.

Simone placed the box on the counter. When Abbie stepped forward to take the box the same time Ichabod did, making them crash into each other. They both stepped back at the same time. Abbie felt her face warm and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I got it,” she insisted.

“Please, permit me,” Ichabod requested. He seemed to think a moment. “After all... you are driving. Therefore you will need to retrieve the key from your pocket to unlock the door to the truck.”

It was one of the weakest excuses she had heard a guy give for trying to be chivalrous but he had a point. “Mmkay,” she conceded. He eagerly picked up the box. “Go ahead out, I'll be right behind you.”

Simone waited until he was out of range to give an excited squeal. “He is a little cutie,” she said. “And he's _your age_ right, Abbie?”

Abbie gave her auntie a pointed glare. “Don't you do it, 'Mone,” she said sternly. She was already very aware of her auntie's proclivity of trying to do matchmaking. Abbie had already been on the receiving end of it twice before (much to Dad's dismay, because he didn't want to think of his little girl being old enough to start dating).

Simone hummed softly and pulled a set of food service gloves from a box. “I promise I won't do anything,” she said, not quite looking Abbie in the eyes. “But I will say this... a lot can happen in a year.”

_Especially when your auntie likes to meddle_ , Abbie wanted to add. “See you later, 'Mone.”

“Mmhmm,” Simone replied. “You bet you will. And you can bet I will be checking in on the two of you when your mom and dad leave you two at the house alone. Just think of that before doing anything kids your age shouldn't be doing.”

“ _'Mone_ ,” Abbie gawked, feeling her face burn. She hurried out of the store to find a de-boxed Ichabod standing by the driver's door. 

“You did not lock the doors,” he said, opening the door so she could slip behind the steering wheel.

Abbie looked to him before he could close the door. “That's because we're in _Kansas_... in a place where livestock is the primary population. Besides, no one would want to steal this old piece of junk.” She pulled the door closed and a few seconds later Ichabod slipped into the passenger side, on the other side of the box of food.

When she turned the key in the ignition, the engine clicked and ticked. “What is that sound?” Ichabod asked with uncertainty.

“We're waiting on the new starter to come in at the parts shop,” Abbie said, digging underneath the seat to pull out a crow bar.

Her auntie had been right about one thing, a lot _could_ happen in a year. For starters, Ichabod was about to get a crash course in how to deal with this piece of crap truck. She pulled the release to pop the hood and grinned cheerily. “Let's go have a quick, hands on lesson on how to do temporary fixes.”


	2. Age 16 - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to go ahead and give a trigger warning for self harm even though it mostly deals with the after effects.

“You might want to change into something with short sleeves and that you don't mind getting dirty,” Abbie said when the exchange student arrived to breakfast with an outfit very similar to the one he arrived in the day before. In fact the only thing different was the colour scheme. “Since it was raining last night, odds are the property tour will get very messy and very hot.” She peered under the table to look at his footwear. “And some boots if you have them. If not my dad should have some you can use until we can go into town and get you some.”

Mama set a plate stacked full of Abbie's breakfast favourites in front of her. “Can the boy eat first before you start bossing him around, Abbie?” She looked to Ichabod. “Eat then you can change, sweetie.”

“I wasn't bossing him around...” Abbie said quietly as Ichabod slipped into the seat across from her.

A minute later Mama put a plate down in front of Ichabod. He stared at it questioningly before giving a polite, “Thank you Mrs. Corbin.”

“Something wrong?” Abbie asked.

“I was not expecting such a... large breakfast,” Ichabod replied.

“We're going to be riding out through the crops and everything so gotta make sure we don't get hungry while we're out there,” Abbie pointed out. She turned in her seat. “Can I take him into town to get his replacement phone and all that this afternoon?”

“I was going to do that when I got back from the feed yard,” Mama said. “Because it requires an _adult_. Which, by the way, you need to have him there by noon so we have plenty of time for everything.” Her gaze shifted to Ichabod. “But Abbie was right. You will need different clothes for the farm and school.”

“I was not certain what I would need, the school did not send uniform specification,” Ichabod admitted shyly. “Nor did I know what I would need for farm work...”

Abbie laughed. “You just wear whatever you want as long as it's within the dress code. It's mostly jeans and a t-shirt for everyone. The nice stuff is for church on Sunday.” Ichabod fidgeted when she mentioned church. “You don't have to go if you don't want to...”

“It's not that I would not like to... it's just bad things happen to any church I have ever attended.”

“I know it sometimes seems that way...” Abbie started.

“When I was three, my mother took me to church for the first time,” Ichabod interrupted. “It was struck by lightening and caught fire... whilst we were there. Six weeks later, a different church... electrical issue. Again, fire. Five years old, I visited a hospital chapel with my mother. It got flooded within an hour of our visit. Not the entire hospital mind you, just the chapel. Seven years old, visited ruins of a historical church in Ireland whilst on a family holiday. The entire place had to be evacuated because a sink hole opened up under it. 

“There are many others. I went to one church that was being renovated so they were having services in a tent outside... whilst there the steeple they were constructing caused the entire building to cave in on itself. The strangest was the one that got struck by a meteor in the middle of the service. Although, I will forever find irony in the fact it happened right after the minister quoted the infamous 'let he who is without sin cast the first stone' verse. It demolished the church and I have not stepped foot into one since.”

Abbie glanced toward Mama. Mama didn't look scared. If anything, she looked like she felt sorry for Ichabod. “In that case... I _just_ happen to know of a few churches in town that would _love_ to have you visit.”

“Mom!” Abbie yelped. 

“It's the perfect way to shut those uppity, self-righteous hypocrites up and you know it,” Mama said.

Abbie looked at Ichabod, expecting to see him being very mortified. Instead he was looking down at his plate shyly and trying to keep from laughing. “No one has ever made light of it before,” Ichabod said quietly. 

“Well, everyone has that one thing they are unlucky with,” Mama replied. “Yours just happens to be that churches get demolished in a dramatic fashion when you visit them. Jason has this thing that every Tuesday something bad happens to him, so he stays home that day. Abbie has bad luck with the truck, because I swear it works fine until she gets in it and then all hell breaks loose with it. Or, maybe it's not something bad. Maybe you trigger something that makes a bad thing happen if they are found wanting in the eyes of God.”

“What of the one in Ireland?” Ichabod asked.

“Maybe that one was just bad timing on your family's part?” Mama replied. “You two eat up and get out there to feed the animals. I'm going to go make sure _Mister_ Corbin is ready to hit the feed yard with me.”

“What about you Mrs Corbin?” Ichabod asked. “What is your unlucky thing?”

Mama smiled softly. “Sweetheart, bad luck looks at me and runs away in fear.” She patted Ichabod on the back as she passed by, on her way to the stairs.

“She's right you know,” Abbie stated. “It really does look at her in fear and run away. A tornado was heading this way once, then changed courses when she yelled that it better not even think about ruining her house.”

“Are you certain it wasn't just because mums have that effect on things?” Ichabod asked.

Abbie shrugged. “Could be.” _It wasn't_. She knew her mother hadn't been embellishing either. Mama had a gift and that was it. In fact, her uncle claimed Dodge City's luckiest woman had married into the most unlucky family known to mankind. Abbie didn't know all the details, just that the main reason their family was in Dodge City to begin with was the “family curse.”

Dad had promised to fill her in when she was older, after the whole ordeal with the previous exchange student, but he had never exactly said at what age she would be old enough to know. So far all she knew was that there were certain _things_ she had to look out for and get Mama and Dad to sort it out.

Mama was teaching her simple magic tricks to help identify people that may be threats and basic protection spells. So far it had helped. Although this was the first time they'd had someone “from the outside” at the house since everything had started... Abbie had no idea how Ichabod might react if he saw some of the things her parents had to fight.

She had no doubt he would eventually find out it was just a matter of _when_. Or—Abbie watched him watching his fingers flex and twitch against the surface of the table—maybe he already knew about the kind of monsters that made a habit of coming for her.

He curled his fingers into a fist and took a deep breath as he sat straight. “I shall go change so we may get started,” he announced and dashed upstairs before Abbie could respond.

  
#  


_“What have I said Ichabod,” Mother scolded, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him to the bathroom. When they reached the bathroom she made him sit on the edge of the bath and took the blood covered scissors from his hand and threw them in the trash. She knelt down in front of him and took his face in hands, her eyes sad. “Ichabod?”_

_Ichabod startled, shaking his head to clear it. “I couldn't stop... I'm sorry.”_

_“What have I said,” Mother repeated softly. “What do we always say about idle hands?”_

_“Idle hands are the devil's plaything,” Ichabod said quietly._

_“Is Ich okay, Mum?” Betsy asked timidly from the door._

_Mother turned and closed the bathroom door. “Say it again, Ichabod.”_

_“Idle hands are...” He jumped and hissed when he felt a sharp pain in his arm as Mother started cleaning the deep gouge marks he had carved into his skin. “I... I don't remember... I don't even remember...” The marks were very precise, forming a symbol. He felt like he should know what it was but it was evading him. “It means something...”_

_“It's a symbol from alchemy,” Mother said quietly. She sighed in frustration and brushed her hair from her face. “We suspected this day would come... We tried to keep it from you but... we never thought it would force itself to the surface. Not like this.”_

_“What does it mean, Mum?” Ichabod asked._

_She delicately touched the wounds. “Power.”_

His parents had pulled both him and Betsy out of school after that and had home schooled them. The first year had been the worst because Ichabod hadn't been able to let his mind be still for more than two minutes. More than once he had gone to bed and woke up covered with blood from where he had etched a new symbol into his skin in his sleep. Most of the time he could remember being in a sort of dream like state, watching himself do it but at the same time it _wasn't_ him.

It felt like a memory almost. A memory from another life.

But he had since learned to control it... for the most part. He had mostly just gotten better at catching himself. Unfortunately his arms and chest were covered with symbols from alchemy and a few symbols neither of his parents recognized but he felt like he _should_ know what they meant. There hadn't been any new ones for over a year, which was one of the reasons his parents had felt he would be okay studying abroad.

He still preferred no one see the scars so he always made certain he wore long sleeves or a coat to assure that. Most of the time it worked very well to his advantage.

That was before spending most of the day in the dog days of summer in Kansas. Right now his attempt to protect himself was at he verge of killing him. He had already drank several canteens of water and sweat them right back out. He hadn't even been aware a human being could sweat as much as he had without expiring.

“Do you need to take a break?” Abbie asked pulling her horse to a halt. She was seemingly not phased by the heat. “If you need a break it's fine... you're not used to all this.”

He looked around, the only shelter he could see for miles was a solitary tree and a dilapidated barn that were right next to each other. “No I'm... I'm... I'm fine.”

Abbie cocked her head and stared at him for a moment before tipping up the front edge of the cowboy hat perched on her head. “Well _I_ need a break.”

Ichabod sucked in a breath. “Then by all means, let us have one.”

A smile smile appeared on her lips and she reached over to grab his horse's bridle as she turned hers in the direction of the barn and tree. “I usually take a break here anyway so it's not really a big deal,” Abbie said, guiding his horse along beside hers. “Although... I warned you before we left that you would get too hot in that sweater. I'm surprised you haven't had a heat faint yet.”

He didn't want to tell her that the only long sleeved shirt he'd brought, aside from his nicer ones, had been the bulky jumper his mother had made him pack “just in case.” He was, of course, wearing a thinner, short sleeved shirt underneath it.

As they drew nearer, Ichabod realized the barn was not as run down as he had initially thought. In fact it looked relatively recently built, just had never been painted in the traditional bright red. There was a small pond next to the large oak tree he had seen with the barn. The inside of the barn smelled of cedar and fresh hay. 

Ichabod gratefully dismounted and poured what remained of one of his canteens over his head. He would have helped Abbie from her mount, but by time he thought about it she was off and half way up a ladder that led to a large fan built into the side of the barn. After a moment the fan began to sluggishly turn then began to turn in earnest and Abbie made her way back down the ladder.

“My dad had this built last year because I said I needed somewhere in the shade to rest while out this far,” Abbie said, removing the thin flannel shirt she had been wearing over a bright pink tank top. She tied the shirt around her waist and plopped down on a bale of hay. When he sat on the floor—or was it the ground—next to her, Abbie tugged on the sleeve of his jumper. “You need to take this off before you _do_ have a heat stroke.”

“No, no... I am... I am perpectly—perfectly fine... I don't need to...” He didn't much like the fact he blacked out in the middle of his sentence.

When he came around it was to a cool, wet cloth being lightly pressed to his face. Abbie smiled down at him sweetly. She cradling him close to her. “You know, stubbornness is one of the leading causes of death in men.”

He would have objected but he knew anything he would have said would just prove her theory. After a moment, Ichabod became acutely aware of the feeling of cool air on his bare arms. A brief spell of panic seized him and he touched the scars lacing his arms until he reached the sleeves of his under shirt.

“Hey... hey, it's okay,” Abbie said quietly. “I have a few of my own just... not where they can be seen easily like yours.” She stopped moping his face with the dampened sleeve of his jumper and took one of his hands to stretch out his arm. “Actually... if you look at them the right way, they almost look like birthmarks. And by right way I mean... _really_ stretching it and partnering it with an unhealthy dose of denial.”

“I didn't want you to think I was some sort of freak,” Ichabod said.

A small smile touched Abbie's lips. “Oddly enough, the thing that made you look like a freak was wearing a heavy ass sweater in the middle of the dogs days of summer. If you had just said something you would have found out that your mom had already told my parents about your scars.”

“Why didn't _you_ say anything?”

“I wanted to see how far you'd drag it out,” Abbie said with a teasing tone. “Although... I didn't think you would pass out like that. You all right?”

Ichabod nodded lightly. He felt a little bit nauseous, but he supposed that was part of the package.

Abbie hoisted him upright with surprising ease. “Then get out of my lap, you're heavy.” She offered him one of her canteens. “Drink this one. It's a little bitter but, trust me, it'll make you feel better after a few sips.”

“What it is?” Ichabod asked.

“Family recipe that helps combat dehydration,” Abbie replied. “Passed down through the generations of... women on my dad's side of the family. I always keep at least one canteen of it ready when I'm going to be out most of the day.”

True to her word, after a few sips, the nauseousness subsided. Ichabod handed the canteen back to her. She took it and took a long drink from it herself, seemingly not even considering the idea of germs or any of the many things Ichabod took into consideration with anything. She cocked an eyebrow when he stared just a little too long. 

“What? It's not like I let the horses lick the canteen first,” Abbie said without even asking him what he had been thinking. How did she know he didn't have some kind of cold or viral bug? “I'm very... resilient to illnesses.”

“I didn't... say anything,” Ichabod stated.

Abbie sucked in a deep breath and caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before replying. “You just had that _look_ that you were thinking about cross contamination and all that.” She looked toward the horses. “I think they've cooled off enough to continue, how about you?” her dark eyes scanned over him quickly. “No sweater.”

Ichabod nodded curtly. “No sweater.” It felt weird using American vernacular. Next he knew he'd be saying things like _elevator_ instead of lift and _vest_ instead of waistcoat.

Abbie's eyes danced with amusement as she clamoured to her feet. She held out her hand. “Let's go.”


	3. Age 16 - Part 3

Thoughts were always a funny thing. Most people thought surprisingly quiet. Their self-musings stayed a gentle whisper in their heads like a secret shared between two friends. Those same people, however, would occasionally have a much louder inner voice. Usually when it was trying to convince them not to do something or alert them to something they should recognize. Some could be unintentionally loud, their thoughts constantly yelling and screaming, trying to talk over the hum of everything going on around them.

It's probably how the phrase “so loud I can't hear myself think” came about, Abbie mused to herself.

Abbie, herself, was a relatively quiet thinker like her mother. Dad tended to have an inner voice that raised and lowered, depending on the thought. Ichabod, on the other hand, seemed to be in a permanent state of screaming into the void while firing off a couple clips from a .45 and riding a Harley with his thoughts. His mind was constantly screaming, constantly yelling... even when he was sleeping.

_Especially_ when he was sleeping.

His thoughts were often so loud Abbie could hear them from one side of opposite side of the house. But his were rarely actual words at this point. It was feelings. Emotions. _Fear. Panic. Trepidation. Oh my God, oh my God what if she finds out?_

Sometimes his thoughts were so loud they gave her a headache. And the more frantic his thoughts became the more his hands would fidget. Although she she was kind of curious about what he was worried she would find out—she had no doubt he was afraid _she_ would find something out because that thought almost always came right before she would take his hand. Taking his hand always seemed to make his thoughts quiet down to a soft hum that matched the energy that she could feel flowing between them.

That was weird too.

What was that energy? She hadn't particularly felt it from anyone before, aside from deeply spiritual people. But Ichabod didn't strike her as a deeply spiritual type. Or maybe she was confusing spiritual and religious again.

_Abbie... Abbie... Abbie!_

Abbie opened her eyes as she heard Ichabod crying out her name. It took her a second to realize it hadn't been a vocalization but that he had mentally called out for her. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the room next to hers. Abbie craned her head to listen for the tell-a-tale sounds that Aunt Simone had fallen asleep in front of the TV downstairs.

_Info-mercials. Loud Snoring._

She carefully eased the door to Ichabod's room open and slipped inside. After closing the door she turned to see him, curled up in the middle of his bed as if in pain, clutching his pillow around his face. Abbie was taken aback, for a moment, by the fact the marks on his arms were glowing a soft silvery blue. She could see the glowing outline of even more marks under his night shirt—his shoulders, his chest, sides, and even his stomach and back.

“Ichabod?” she said gently, placing a hand over one of his.

He immediately went ridged. Abbie felt her mind cloud over. She felt like she was in a room—a library, maybe—watching a man she felt she should recognize speak to a woman that looked very much like the old pictures of her great grand mother.

_“Why do you need to know the precise weight of my sister?”_

_“Why?” the strangely familiar man asked. He fidgeted uncomfortably, tugging at the sleeve of his coat as if to hide something that had peeked out. “I may have found a means of resurrecting her. Our Abbie. Not some... imposter housing her soul. But to do so I need to know her precise weight so I may present the right amount of materials.”_

_“Is this about those people that showed up and told you they could show you how to bring back the dead? Oh wait, who am I kidding, of course it is. I thought we agreed they couldn't be trusted.”_

_The man looked straight at Abbie. There was a deep sadness in his eyes. Abbie shook her head, somehow knowing he was wanting to do something both stupid and reckless. “I fear she may be the only one with the knowledge of how to deal with them.”_

_“Liar,” Abbie heard herself say._

Abbie pulled away from Ichabod with a gasp, ending the things that had been projected into her head. A dream that was a memory, but a memory that wasn't really her memory...

The glowing symbols faded into being nothing more than healed scars. Ichabod let out a soft sob. Abbie tentatively reached out and stroked his hair. After a moment his hand rested over hers. He pulled her palm to his lips and kissed it softly before cradling it against his chest with both of his own hands.

“Stay,” he murmured, eyes still closed.

Abbie eased off of the bed so she could climb back in and layi in front of him, atop the covers. His thoughts were once again quiet so it was considerably easy for her to fall back to sleep herself.

  
#  


Ichabod was not entirely certain what to make of awakening to find Abbie in his bed, him clutching her hand to his chest. He just knew it had been at least three years since he had felt so well-rested. His sleep had been riddled with nightmares since the first time he had gouged one of the symbols into his skin. As more symbols appeared, the worse the dreams had become.

What he didn't know was why everything felt more at peace when Abbie was near. Now, apparently, even his dreams could be calmed by her. It had started as wanting to be a nightmare. But then suddenly it had turned into more content things such as chess games and laughing over coffee. Had it been Abbie's doing?

Abbie's eyes fluttered open and she smiled softly. “You think too loud,” she said sleepily. She slowly pulled her hand from his grip and sat up, looking at the crocheted blanket that was draped over her questioningly. “You were having a bad dream last night so I came in here. Hope you don't mind.”

Ichabod shook his head silently. 

She climbed out of the bed and started folding the blanket up neatly. “Just got to feed the animals today and we can go visit some of the museums in town if you want. Although... we do have the entire school year to go to them if you don't want to go today. But the re-enactors can be hilarious. Just because most of them take their job so seriously.”

There was a rapid knock at the door and Abbie's Aunt Simone opened the door and peeked in. Ichabod felt his heart leap into his throat the same moment Abbie's eyes widened and she froze. He was prepared to defend Abbie's honour and insist that they had merely been sleeping and nothing more. But Simone smiled cheerfully and announced, “Breakfast is ready you two.”

“We were sleeping,” Abbie said.

“I know,” Simone replied. “Who do you think put that blanket over you, babe? And I checked on y'all a couple of times too.” She made a motion to indicate she had her eyes on them. “I told y'all I would check on you when you were left here alone. Didn't I? And I'm thinking it was a good thing I did.”

Abbie rolled her eyes. Ichabod felt his face burning. Simone tilted her head and looked toward him, concern suddenly over taking her face. “Are you okay, Ichabod? You're bleeding.” She hurried over and pulled back the neck of his night shirt. “Abbie go get the first aid kit so we can get this cleaned up.”

Abbie hurried out. Simone pulled him over to the small computer desk and made him sit in the rolling chair. “Come on, off with the shirt so I can have a look at it,” she ordered. Her eyes softened when he grasped his wrists protectively. “I already saw them last night when I checked on you and Abbie. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Sweetheart.”

Ichabod adverted his eyes as he quickly stripped off his night shirt. Simone made a soft hissing sound as she turned him in the chair enough to see the damage. Her finger delicately touched a spot on the back of his shoulder, Ichabod jumped as a stinging sensation shot through him. How could he have even reached that spot? 

“Looks like you got _burned_... or branded,” Simone said quietly. “You didn't feel it when this happened?”

She touched a place closer to the middle of his back, making him jump again. “No, Miss Simone. I did not. I rarely do. Nor do I recall how they came to be. Sometimes, I sort of just... black out and they've either appeared or... I find I am personally responsible for their appearance.”

“And you mother never thought to have anyone look into _why_?” Simone asked.

“Mother had asked a priest about it but... none of them wanted me to step foot in their parish,” Ichabod said quietly. “A lady came, a few months later—I think she was an American—and talked to her about them. Mother said they meant I am cursed... by God himself.”

Abbie returned with the first aid kit. She gave a quiet, “Oh my God...” when she took in the injury.

Simone shook her head. “No, baby... you're not cursed by God.” 

Ichabod squeezed his eyes as Simone began to clean his wounds. He couldn't help but wonder what they looked like this time. After a moment, he felt Abbie's smaller hands take his. Somehow, the small gesture made it hurt less. When he opened his eyes, he met hers. Abbie smiled gently and he knew everything was going to be okay as long as she was near.

“If I am not cursed, then what 'tis it?” Ichabod asked.

“No, no, I didn't say you wasn't cursed. I just said you wasn't cursed _by God_ ,” Simone said. “I know someone who could explain it a bit better, I think. Abbie, sweetie, can you call Miss Sophie and see if she can come over?”

Ichabod's fingers instinctively flexed around Abbie's when she made a move to do so. He didn't want her to let go. She paused and tilted her head to look at him. “Actually... I was thinking maybe Ichabod and I could go over to her place once you're done and I feed the animals. Just in case she has something that might help.”

“I'll take care of the animals,” Simone replied. “This is more important. And... maybe don't tell your mom and dad about this or going to visit Miss Sophie.”

Simone finished up her task and handed him his night shirt. “Get changed.” She looked at Abbie. “You too Abbie.”

Within the hour, the Ichabod and Abbie were piling themselves into the old pick-up truck and barrelling across the dirt paths of the property. He stared out of the window blankly worrying over everything under the sun but especially the fact that, after a year of nothing like this happening, it had started again. He didn't want to go back home but at the same time he didn't want to put Abbie and her family in any sort of danger by being under their roof.

Ichabod knew as soon as he told his mother that she would insist he return home. He hadn't even started the school year yet. But he was going to have to return to England and be shut away in the house because the marking had resumed.

His thoughts calmed when Abbie reached across the cab and took his hand. She shook her head. “Don't get panicked. Everything will turn out fine. I promise.”

They reached the far reaches of the property where almost two dozen giant wind turbines whirled lazily. Tucked back against the treeline was an old, dated house. It was a small house but looked like there was at least someone that cared enough to cut the sparse lawn around it and tend to some rose bushes near the mailbox. A swarm of cats scampered out to the truck to greet Abbie as she waited for him to meet her at the walkway.

When he caught up to her, Abbie recaptured his hand and they walked, together, to the door. She pushed the button next to the door and the sound of the bell chimed from somewhere inside. Ichabod looked down when he felt one of the cats flop against his leg and nuzzle his ankle. Abbie laughed softly.

“Just about all of the farm cats end up here for some reason,” Abbie commented as two whirled between hers and his legs.

The door opened and a middle aged woman peered out at them. She had a stern expression on her face as she sharpened a long bladed dagger with a sharpening stone. After a moment a bright smile crossed her face and she tucked the dagger into a sheath at her side. “Hey Abbie... I didn't expect to see you until Monday,” the woman greeted brightly. Her eyes darted to him. “This must be Ichabod.”

“Ichabod, this is Miss Foster. She's the girls' Phys Ed teacher at the school,” Abbie introduced. “Miss Foster, this is of course, Ichabod. He... needs your help answering some questions.”

Miss Foster looked between the two of them before she nodded. “Okay. Come on in.” She disappeared from the doorway.

Ichabod made a move to follow but Abbie squeezed his hand and gave him pause. “There's something you need to know before we go in,” Abbie said quietly. When he didn't offer any objection, she continued, “She sometimes talks about the distant past like it was only a week ago. And she sometimes talks like I'm someone else she knew a _long_ time ago. She's not crazy, she's just... been around a long time.”

“What do you mean?” Ichabod asked.

“I once saw someone shoot her in the face. She got right back up and kicked their ass,” Abbie replied. “I think she might be immortal.”


End file.
